Wrong Decision
by lostinfantasies
Summary: What if Rose had said no the second time he asked her?


**What if Rose had said "no" the second time?**

** Apologies if anyone reading this is called Walter or Matilda :). I just wanted two "old" names that may not have been appealing to a nineteen year-old girl living on a London estate.**

**Please R&R x **

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* * *

**  
I watched as you walked home with him. With Mickey. Back to his flat to clean him up and to sort him out, while all the while you had been considering your decision. I saw that look of confusion and frustration on your face; you looked distant, even when Mickey asked how you were. He pulled his own face when he takes a look down at his clothing; hoping to make you laugh, even if it was at him. But you don't. And he knows how you think you made the wrong decision. How you'd wished you had said "yes" when I came back that second time.

_"Yeah...like I said, I can't...things to do here. Gotta find a job and...there's Mum...Mickey. You know."_

_"Yeah."_

_

* * *

_

You found yourself another job. In another department store. It wasn't brilliant, and it certainly wasn't going to make you a millionaire, but it was something; I saw how relieved you were to get out of the flat. Staying in there, watching television and eating beans on toast. I heard you, from the outside, complaining to your mother. How you were "bored". And she asked whether you were bored "with Mickey or with everything else, and would you get your plate off the settee? It's dripping sauce, and I am NOT washing it out!"

And you ignored her.

And she continued babbling.

And I decided against knocking on your door, waltzing right in and taking you away.

Should have done, really.

* * *

You found out you were pregnant. 

Mickey was ecstatic. Told everyone he knew and everyone he didn't; that's how I found out. Overheard some girl called Shireen rabbiting on to a friend over her phone. _"I know! It's so cute. Mickey was like 'Shireen, guess what? I'M HAVING A BABY! ROSE IS PREGNANT!' and then wouldn't shut up about it for AGES. Kept going on about how Rose is finally happy he's gonna go and clean the flat - 'cause you know how dirty it is - 'cause when the baby comes, she ain't gonna bring it up in a crap environment or somethin'."_

I'm eager to listen for more, but she then starts talking about cheap and dodgy phone-cards, and whether some bloke called Sid would be able to help her out.

* * *

I saw you walking into the hospital. Hand in hand with Mickey. You looked happy; he looked nervous. And you reassured him everything would be fine; how it was only a scan. _"Every mum-to-be has them."_

And he grinned when you said that. Mum-to-be. He starts wittering on about names and cribs and sleeping space, while that smile falls right off your face and is replaced with a forced laugh when he asks _"Walter for a boy, Matilda for a girl."_

_

* * *

_  
Why am I so captivated by you?

I should be off visiting another planet, fixing the TARDIS, starting a war of wit and words with the Emperor Fra'xha of Gh'yjanok. Finding adventure. Following wherever the TARDIS decides to throw me off course. Paying a visit to old friends in high places; friends who decide that this species or that race is the forbidden, playing God - causing death, only wanting the "pure" and the "holy" to live. I could be charging into a plasma storm, riding out the shockwaves for as far out as the eye can see.

But I have all the time in the universe to do that.

For now, I just want to concentrate on you. You and your life. The one little bit of Earth normality that hurts to watch. Because I know you're still bored, even with a child on the way. I know you still regret your decision. I know you wish you came with me.

You almost saw me that day by the hospital. You looked to where I was standing, but I had moved - didn't want you to see me. Didn't want a confrontation with Mickey. Didn't want you to decide between Earth or out there; you were pregnant now, you had to stay.

* * *

You did see me. 

Outside the department store. You were on your way to work, despite off-duty colleagues telling you to go home. You shouted at them; you were "fine", you just wanted to "get on with it". You saw me as I watched you. And you squinted your eyes the way you stupid humans do, even though it masks your vision even more. Another squint. Another look of confusion.

But you decided I was a fake; a figment of your imagination. Grief had probably taken over you and you were probably seeing things. Hallucinating.

So on with work you went.

Even though you had lost the baby.

* * *

You both decided it was for the best. 

You had become both so distant, so drifted. Mickey was now a regular at several bars and pubs, drinking away his grief, never being ready for the sudden onslaught of tears that consumed him when he left his final, half-empty glass. You became monotonous. Wake up, work, sleep. Wake up, work, sleep. Ignoring Mickey. Ignoring your mother. Ignoring life.

And you knew. You knew you were going to self-destruct if it had carried on. Hurt everyone around you. So when Mickey had asked you, that day in the park, you agreed.

A mutual decision.

And so you went your separate ways. He found himself sleeping with anything that would have him - overheard Shireen again, both out of concern and in awe of "his moves". You continued to work. Started talking to your mother again. Started opening up. But you still avoided life.

I saw your face when a couple of kids ran up to you, wanting their ball back. You hadn't even noticed their football had bothered you; it was nudging at your feet, but went unnoticed. You were too busy watching them, listening to the sounds of their screams and shouts. Watching parents and grandparents and their children at the roundabout. On the swings. On the slide.

That could have been you.


End file.
